The Counting Dream
by Isisisawesome
Summary: It started out as a quiet evening; until the boy let his anger get the best of him. Now he must suffer the consequences of the violence the demon inside him has wrought. Oneshot?


**A/N**

**Okay, I know these characters are not really like Kendra and Seth. Actually this is just a dramatized version of a real event that happened to my brother (he didn't really get beaten, so don't call the cops or anything.) I just thought it could be turned into a cool, emo story that you guys might like, and I needed a catergory to fit it in. I chose Fablehaven because Kendra and Seth are very similar to us, except that I'm the brave one, not my brother, hehe. Oh and the dream sequence at the end was an absolutely real dream that my brother had a long time ago. Yeah, he's got a messed up mind. Anyway, this is my first fanfic ever, and I hope to be writing a lot more soon! Yay! **

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It started out as a quiet evening. The boy and his father lounged on the couches in the living room, watching whatever shows that were on TV at that moment. His sister bent over her craft, quietly working on the ground beside the coffee table. She listened to the TV shows and looked up every once in a while to see what was happening.

It started out as a quiet evening. Until he rolled onto the floor, stretching his limbs and facing the carpeted ground; until his father decided to playfully knock him on the head (perhaps a little harder than he had intended) causing the boy's face to hit the floor painfully; until he got up and hotly protested this fact to his father, who let him extract his misplaced revenge by being willingly succumbing to "same thing" his son had endured.

The boy raised the heavy pillow above his head, then brought it down forcefully onto the back of his father's skull. The father's face bounced off of the ground, quick enough to have caused whiplash. Immediately the father sprang up and cuffed the boy roughly on gthe arm. Enraged with pain, he bellowed,

"WHAT THE FUCK! I KNOW FOR A FACT THAT I DID NOT HIT YOU WITH THAT MUCH FORCE!" It was then that the father noticed the blood seeping from his nose. "LOOK AT ME, YOU LITTLE SHIT! I'M FUCKING BLEEDING! IS THAT WHAT YOU WANTED? FOR ME TO BLEED?"

The boy was in shock. He numbly shook his head, and his father stormed away. Realization dawned on the boy when his father came back, yelling. The only relevant part, the only part that the boy had heard was, "YOU BROKE MY FUCKING NOSE!"

It had started out as a quiet evening. Until the boy let his anger get the best of him.

He sobbed for his broken father, who had, only a few minutes before, been unbreakable to him. He sobbed for his own wild fury, which, though it had not been very wild this time, had still caused more damage than any of the other times years ago. He sobbed in self-loathing.

He sobbed in fear.

Not only fear of the consequences of his dreadful action, but also in fear of himself, of his own strength, brutality, and anger. If he could hurt the seemingly un-hurt-able, then imagine what he might do to the most vulnerable ones in an accidental fit of violent rage?

He sobbed once again.

In the next room, his sister sobbed with him. But she would not let anyone see her; it was best to keep out of these things, to not draw any attention to herself. Plus, she had to keep a strong face in front of her brother. But how she hated to see him cry! With her eyes full of tears, she worked on.

His father walked in with the Stick in his hand, his mother flitting behind him anxiously. She looked down and said nothing while his father spoke.

"You know that what you did was wrong," he said.

The boy rocked back and forth in his bed, tears still streaming down his face. "Yes, yes! I'm sorry, so sorry!" His voice cracked with sobs.

In the next room, his sister rocked back and forth herself, biting on the inside of her cheek to stop her from screaming.

"Yes, yes we know," their father continued. "But I cannot let this pass without fair punishment. I'm sorry son," he said sadly. "But imagine if it had been someone else?"

The boy nodded frantically. "Yes, Dad, I know that! I've learned my lesson. I swear!"

His sister covered her ears against his voice which was choked with still more unshed tears.

"I'm sorry son. But you must learn the hard way to never let go of your temper. You are the master of your will," said their father. "And for now, I am the master of you."

With that, his father brought the Stick down to deal the first blow upon him.

The boy's sister cowered in the neighboring room, covering her head with pillows, blankets, and her hands. Nothing seemed to drown out the dreadful screams of her brother emanating from the next room. The worst thing was that she knew why he was screaming. She knew that it was not just the physical pain. It was something worse. It was internal pain, the kind of pain that you cannot escape from, and the kind of pain you cannot afford to let escape. It came from the knowledge that he had something dark inside himself, something that ached to get out and cause pain unto others, even the ones he loved. And no matter how tightly he bound the demon, it would always find a way to wiggle out and inspire violent thoughts, moods, and actions.

The boy screamed again. His sister screamed with him, into the pillow over her face.

She could take no more.

Throwing the pillows and other things off of her, she dashed out the front door and across their porch, down the steps to the street. She raced across the asphalt, crying silently, wishing she could help him.

He lay still after the beating, drifting in and out of consciousness. He thought about only one thing: he must never let the darkness inside him control him. _Not even once_, he repeated in his mind. _Not even once._

When sleep finally claimed him, he found that he wished it hadn't.

He was having the counting dream again.

_The boy lay motionless in his bed, staring at the wall. _

_A girl screams off to his right, leading him to roll over in his bed, facing her. He catches a glimpse of her in a flowing, bright-white dress, a sparkling tiara resting on her head of night-colored hair._

_The boy gets to his feet and walks across the room to his bathroom, where he finds a circle of sharp-looking, interconnected scribbles on the wall before him._

"_ONE."_

_A '1' appears above the circle of scribbles, followed by a distant, rumbling BOOM. The girl screams again, but he barely notices; the walls to his sides are closing in, crushing him with a tremendous pressure. _

"_TWO."_

_A '2' takes the place of the '1' above the scribbled circle, accompanied by a closer sounding BOOM and a louder, shriller scream. The walls around the boy squash him even more, leaving him breathless. There is an incredible pain inside his head._

"_THREE."_

_As the '2' becomes a '3', the BOOM sounds nearer, the scream pierces the boy's skull, intensifying the pain in his head. The walls seem to be squeezing the life out of him._

"_FOUR."_

_With every number change, the BOOM thunders closer._

"_FIVE. SIX."_

_With every number change, the scream becomes louder, more piercing._

"_SEVEN. EIGHT." _

_With every number change, the painful pressure inside his head and around his body increases._

"_**NINE."**_

_This time, the scream comes first. He sees the girl as well as hears her: her face fills his vision, all pale skin and glowing, pure white eyes. The force of the horrid screech emanating from her is so strong that the skin of the boy's face is blown into ripples, and the pain in his head is intensified into unthinkable agony. Then the __**BOOM **__is upon him. It comes from the ceiling that is falling on top of him, crushing him once and for all with its unyielding weight._

_Now he is black nothingness._

The boy awoke in his bed, drenched in sweat and screaming hysterically.

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**Creepy, right? ****If you agree, review. If you disagree, please explain what type of brain malfunction you have. ****Either way, review! **


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